


Seas of Fire

by bone_orchard



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirates, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Captivity, Emotional Manipulation, Face-Fucking, Intercrural Sex, Intergluteal Sex, M/M, Masochism, Oral Sex, People Being Terrible, Pirate Katsuki Yuuri, Porn With Plot, Prince Victor Nikiforov, Rape, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sadism, Stockholm Syndrome, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-04-21 08:51:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14281350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bone_orchard/pseuds/bone_orchard
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov, crown prince of Rzanya and decorated naval officer, chases down the notorious pirate ship Agape with the noble goal of saving the northern seas from its terror. But the path to hell is paved with good intentions, and it's not long before Viktor finds himself captured, separated from his crew and stripped of his status.It's dangerous for a prince to be under the power of criminals, but what Viktor doesn't realize is that to Agape’s captain, Viktor himself is the prize.Katsuki Yuuri is an exquisite nightmare, one Viktor soon becomes intimately acquainted with.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unrhymed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrhymed/gifts).



> My tumblr: [orchard-of-bones](https://orchard-of-bones.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Asks, anon included, are enabled.

“-ke up, hey, come on.”

Viktor groans, forced into awareness by the hand on his shoulder, rough and insistent as it shakes him awake. His first thought is that the blissful darkness of unconsciousness was preferable to the pain that lances through his head, but the next moment, he remembers what was happening before he got knocked out, and the lethargy flees, taking peace with it.

“There you are,” the woman hovering over him says, satisfaction curling her mouth. She’s vaguely familiar with her light brown hair and laughing eyes. Viktor recalls flashes of this same woman cutting through his soldiers like they were untrained riffraff rather than elite members of Rzanya’s naval forces.

He’s slow to notice the ropes on his person, half from surprise at still being alive and half from his wariness of the woman, but when she continues to just hover over him with that bright, implacable smile, he turns his attention to himself. He doesn’t like what he finds but isn’t too surprised either. He’s lucky to be alive, he knows, not that the bondage presents a particularly pleasant picture of what his continued existence will be like.

“My people,” Viktor starts, pausing when his voice comes out as a barely intelligible croak. He clears his throat, finding it dry enough to sting, and tries again. “My ship and my men, where are they?”

“Right here,” the woman says with a grin that would seem friendly if Viktor doesn’t know better. “Mostly alive too! We were careful, you know. But blades ain’t ever harmless, see? Now, come on, let’s take you to them.”

She grabs Viktor’s collar and yanks him up with surprising strength. It’s all that keeps him from not tumbling back down. With his hands bound behind his back and knees weak from the blow that felled him, standing isn’t something he could do on his own power. She’s gentler once he’s up, leading him as she wishes with a hand on his back. Viktor obeys because there’s little he can do, fighting not even an option with both his arms so thoroughly restrained and the woman’s other hand never straying from the cutlass at her waist.

It’s impeccably clean now, but he’s quite certain that he saw the same dripping with the blood of his comrades mere…

Hours ago?

How long has it been?

He gets his answer once he’s on the deck and sees the foreboding darkness of the sky. Their battle was in the morning, in those hours right before the sun’s glare became scorching. He has lost nearly a day.

“Where are you taking me?” he asks the woman who steers him through the pirates straggling about. They glance at him with fierce scowls or unsettling grins but don’t approach or speak. Viktor doesn’t miss the fear-tinged respect in their eyes when they look at the woman.

She must be their captain. It wasn’t like he had a chance to talk with the pirates before they the fighting began. The _Agape_ is infamous in these parts and just as mysterious. That reputation was part of why Viktor gave chase so vehemently, unwilling to let them terrorize these seas any longer.

He regrets it now.

“To say goodbye,” the woman informs him cheerfully, and Viktor’s blood runs cold.

She sees it and laughs, like the horror curdling his soul is _entertaining_.

In that moment, Viktor is willing to rip out her throat with his teeth just to see her die. She laughs again as if she sees the killing intent and finds it just as hilarious.

“So hostile! You wound me with your assumptions. We’re not sending them to a watery grave. We’re letting them go.”

“What?”

Before she can answer, Viktor catches sight of his ship. _Stammi Vicino_ , the pride and joy of Rzanya’s navy, stands tall and battered before him, but it’s not the ship’s survival that births the relief that sweeps through him but the people standing on it. Each one of them is beaten and bloodied, and Viktor knows, even though he can’t possibly see everyone from here, that some among their ranks are absent.

“The dead are there too,” Yuuko tells him, and Viktor considers asking if she can read his mind.

“What are you doing, pirate?” he asks instead, forcing cold steel into his voice.

“Letting them go,” she says again, slow and carefully enunciated as if she’s speaking to a very small child. “You should be thankful, your highness.”

Once again, Viktor’s blood turns to ice.

“You know.”

“Of course we do. Viktor Nikiforov, crown prince of Rzanya and decorated captain of _Stammi Vicino_. You’re very…distinctive.” She adds the last part with a significant glance at his hair, the long silver locks bound in a tight braid. He doesn’t curse himself but it’s a near thing. But hiding never was something he liked to do. And if it has finally come to haunt him like his mother always warned, well, so be it.

“You’re keeping me for ransom,” Viktor murmurs, careful not to let any emotion show. He doesn’t even feel any fear, only a distant sort of resignation.

“Aye,” she says, that same toothy grin back in place. “Look on the bright side. This means we’re letting your people go instead of skewering the whole lot and razing that beauty of a ship. Someone needs to deliver the ransom note, and hey, we can be merciful. Occasionally.”

“How kind,” Viktor drawls, eyes still on _Stammi Vicino_. He thinks he can spot the distinctive red of Mila’s hair even as it sails farther and further away from him. It’s good to know that his First Officer is alive. She’s smart and efficient, more than capable of handling things in Viktor’s absence. And if they’re meant to deliver the ransom note to his mothers, they should know he’s still alive.

Small mercies, and at the moment, they’re not particularly reassuring.

The woman chuckles and takes Viktor by the arm, unceremoniously guiding him back the way they came. He considers resisting, but there are pirates all around them, and at closer glance, he can see that most of them are sifting through crates bearing his own royal insignia.

“You looted us,” Viktor tells her, not quite sharp enough to be accusatory.

“We’re pirates,” is all she says.

He’s not led back to the same dank room he woke up in but to one that’s larger and better-furnished, with a large, cozy bed taking up most of the space. It’s not as luxurious as his own chambers back in _Stammi Vicino_ but certainly better than the brig, which is what he was expecting.

He’s fairly certain this is the captain’s quarters, and if she brought him here to keep her company…

Viktor shoots the woman a sideways glance. She’s undoubtedly beautiful and about as attractive to him as a pile of rocks simply because she’s not a man. He doubts that will stop her, but his situation is dismal enough without being forced to bed a pirate and he can’t help but hope that this isn’t going where he thinks it’s going.

“Wait here,” she tells him. “The captain will come to you when he’s ready.”

“You’re not the captain?” Viktor blurts before he can stop himself.

She gives him a wide-eyed look of genuine surprise.

“Wha – oh, this is lovely. Yuuri will laugh himself sick. No, your highness, I’m the first mate, Yuuko. I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but then you might feel compelled to return the sentiment and that would be a lie, wouldn’t it?”

And just like that, she’s gone, sweeping out of the room with graceful strides and leaving Viktor’s equilibrium shattered in her wake.

He hears the faint click of the door locking and wryly wonders where she fears he’ll run off to with a deck full of pirates who would be all too happy to slice him up waiting beyond that door. Even if he manages to escape them, where will he go? He’s an excellent swimmer but the ocean will devour him.

All he can do is wait, trapped and bound, for the pirate captain to grace him with his presence.

He’s tired down to his bones and aching all over his body with the telltale throb of burgeoning bruises, but he resists the invitation of the bed and the austere table and chair at the far corner, keeping himself stubbornly upright. He will not be weak here.

When the captain enters, Viktor isn’t as surprised as he should be to find that he’s the reason behind Viktor’s predicament.

He remembers fighting him, the man’s skill with a sword good but not so great that Viktor couldn’t disarm him after exchanging a series of increasingly dangerous blows. His skill with his hands was another thing entirely and even now, Viktor is vaguely awed by the liquid ease with which he ducked under Viktor’s saber and slammed into him, one large hand going for his throat. Their fight was over quickly after that, and Viktor the loser.

His fingers itch with the urge to rub his throat where he can still feel the man’s fingers pressing in. The back of his head, which was mercilessly slammed into the boards to knock him out, throbs.

Now, in this room, the man seems smaller than he did on _Stammi Vicino_ ’s deck, but there’s an aura of composed danger about him that puts Viktor on edge.

“Prince Viktor,” the man greets, soft-spoken in a way that can easily lull someone into complacency, provided that they never witnessed the violence those hands are capable of. Viktor managed to disarm him, yes, but the man had cut his way through his crew with the same ease as his first mate.

“Come to finish what you started?” Viktor asks though he knows that the answer is no.

The man smiles.

“I know Yuuko told you we’re ransoming you,” he says gently, looking almost amused. “My name’s Yuuri, I’m the captain of this ship. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Viktor bares his teeth, Yuuko’s parting words echoing in his head.

“I can’t say the same.”

“Naturally,” Yuuri returns, locking the door behind him before he steps closer – and closer and closer until he’s toe to toe with Viktor. He’s a little shorter and has to tilt his head, but that doesn’t stop him from looming over Viktor. “You won’t enjoy my experience much, your highness.”

With that, Yuuri’s hands grip Viktor’s shoulders and shove _down_.

Viktor hits the floor with a loud thud, knees flaring with pain. He glares up at Yuuri, not so much as flinching. If this man wants Viktor to show fear or pain, he’s going to have to try much harder. He’s a prince and has his pride.

“Happy?” Viktor inquires frostily. “Or would you like me to lick your boots so you can bask in your petty illusion of superiority?”

“I’m not wearing any boots,” Yuuri answers, still with that infuriating note of amusement. “They were liberally stained with the blood of your people and are being cleaned. But if you’re so eager to use your tongue, your highness, I have another suggestion.”

It’s not until the man starts to unlace his trousers that Viktor allows himself to register what’s happening.

He bites down in hysterical laughter because he considered this, just a while ago, while Yuuko stood in this room with him but it escaped his mind in the ensuing solitude and in the shock of Yuuri’s identity, and now he’s caught off guard, nausea swirling in his belly while Yuuri nonchalantly bares his cock.

Viktor stares blankly at it for one, horrifying moment before glowering up at Yuuri’s face.

“Who do you think I am?” he bites out, his rage a live, vicious thing that gives his words sharp edges.

“A fine treasure,” Yuuri replies, his hand stroking Viktor’s face, oddly tender as it trails up his cheek and over his forehead, fingers sliding through the mess his bound hair has become. Viktor stays as still as a statue while Yuuri fondles his braid, arranging it so that it falls over one of Viktor’s shoulders. “The loot is good, and the ransom convenient, but in all honesty, I would have kept you even if you weren’t a prince. Pretty things like you are treasures in their own right, hm?”

It takes a long time for Viktor to makes his tongue move. Yuuri waits patiently, a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. Viktor wants to rip his head off.

“I am _not_ your whore.”

“Did I say you were?” Yuuri asks, faux-surprised. “Oh, no, you’re very much a prince, your highness. And for the foreseeable future, you’re _mine_. Now be good and open your mouth.”

Viktor presses his lips into a thin line, glaring at Yuuri who looks back with that same, skin-deep calm. His hand, still fiddling with Viktor’s braid, grips it firmly and _pulls_.

His yelp is involuntary and gives Yuuri the perfect opportunity to pry Viktor’s mouth open. Viktor nearly bites down on his fingers but as if foreseeing that, Yuuri murmurs a warning.

“Don’t. I’d like to leave you mostly whole, your highness, but you can easily persuade me otherwise. I’m a fickle man, you see.”

Viktor pants around the fingers in his mouth but doesn’t clamp down, heart in his throat and lead in his chest as the reality of the situation sinks in. He’s captured and restrained and _trapped_. He can’t run, has nowhere to run to, and…no way to resist.

“Don’t do this,” he whispers when the fingers slide out of his mouth, lingering in a way that makes him sick to his stomach.

Yuuri’s answer is that same serene smile and his cock slipping past Viktor’s lips.

“Have you ever sucked cock before, your highness?” Yuuri asks, the respectful address and his calm tone utterly at odds with the unrelenting cruelty with which he pushes into Viktor’s mouth. He doesn’t even react to the question, too focused on breathing past the thick cock stuffing his mouth. But the air is heavy with musk, his nose nearly buried in Yuuri’s crotch, and Viktor’s distantly aware that he usually enjoys this part but now, the best he can do it not choke on the scream trapped in his lungs and the cockhead brushing his throat.

Yuuri tugs at his braid, gentler than before, almost playful.

“Answer me.”

Viktor peers balefully at Yuuri around a mouthful of cock. Yuuri just smirks and thrusts his hips and he’s going too deep and Viktor can’t _breathe_ –

Suddenly, he pulls out and Viktor almost collapses, unbalanced and disoriented as he hacks and coughs as if trying to be rid of the taste on his tongue. There’s another tug at his braid, rougher this time, and Viktor speaks in some desperate self-defense.

“ _Yes_.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Back to work now.”

Viktor shoots Yuuri an incredulous glance and receives only a placid, expectant look. He doesn’t move even though his cock juts between his legs like its daring Viktor to run away. And he would, in a heartbeat, but he can’t even stand like this, let alone run.

It’s horrifying, the realization that Yuuri expects him to suck him off on his own volition, denying Viktor even the pale relief of being forced into it.

No, he’s still being forced. It’s just that his rapist wants him to take an active part in his own violation.

“Viktor,” Yuuri sighs, and the sound of his name naked on the man’s tongue is enough to shock Viktor into a moment of stillness. “My sweet prince, why are you so determined to push me?”

“I’m not yours and not so sweet that I won’t bite off your filthy dick.”

“You can try,” is all Yuuri says, superbly unconcerned with the threat that would make most men cower. “I’m sure I’ll be in unbearable agony, and your corpse will rot in the bottom of the sea.”

“You seem to think I fear death a great deal.”

“We all fear death a great deal, sweet prince, be it ours or another’s. I don’t have the time or inclination to find out whose skin I should peel from their flesh to make you beg like a dog, so I’ll inevitably settle for yours.”

Yuuri bends and for the first time, Viktor gets a good look at his eyes. They’re large and a dark shade of brown, a color that should by all means be warm but only sends a cold shiver through Viktor. Finally, he understands why all of Yuuri’s smiles seemed so strange, so _wrong_.

It’s because his eyes are dead.

“There are many ways to make a person scream, Viktor,” Yuuri whispers, voice lowered like in confession. “And I’m very, very good at them all. Now, will you be a good boy and put that pretty mouth to use, or shall I get creative?”

Viktor doesn’t respond but when Yuuri straightens, he wordlessly moves to take his cock in his mouth and in the end, that’s answer enough.

It’s not easy or fun. Viktor has done this a few times, in cheap rented rooms at busy harbors or the dark corners of some noble’s mansion. Most people were off-limits for him, his status placing him under constant scrutiny and his own scruples making him turn down his subordinates’ offers. But those stolen hours, even those spent in the awkward thrill of fumbling experimentation, were something enjoyable, a way to learn himself and the body of his companion.

This is nothing like that, and maybe that’s a good thing because Viktor doesn’t want those happy memories to be ruined.

Yuuri’s thick, almost too thick, and Viktor’s jaw aches with being pried so open. He doesn’t thrust at least, content for the moment to let Viktor ease himself into the experience.

There are several, too-long minutes of uncertain motion before Yuuri huffs disdainfully.

“I thought you had experience with this,” Yuuri says, having the gall to sound disappointed. “ _Suck_ , your highness, before I lose what little patience I have and wreck your throat.”

Viktor sucks, humiliation burning on his cheeks, and shudders violently when Yuuri leaks on his tongue, the taste of him bitter and tangy. Yuuri still doesn’t move, but Viktor gets a sense of being near a beast that’s barely restrained and could tear you apart any second. He wishes he could use his hands just to speed this up, make Yuuri come, and end this, but they’re bound tightly behind his back, a constant source of pain that he has stopped noticing.

“Less teeth,” Yuuri says a moment later, shifting his hand so it’s no longer holding Viktor’s braid like a leash but is buried in the looser strands on top. “Tongue, your highness, you have one of those. Use it.”

Viktor wishes the worst death he can think of on this wretch of a man and does as asked with the full knowledge that even the worst death he can think of is probably nothing as bad as what Yuuri can and will make a reality for him. It’s a humbling thought that makes him regret every decision he’s made since this morning with agonizing pangs.

In the end, his forced compliance doesn’t matter anyway. He’s not prepared for the way Yuuri’s hand sinks into his hair, tugging harshly at the strands as he positions Viktor’s head the way he wants. His pained moan is lost in the growl that leaves Yuuri, and the wet, filthy sound of his cock driving deep into Viktor’s mouth.

He gags, throat convulsing around the intrusion, but Yuuri only pulls back and thrusts back in, willfully blind to Viktor’s desperate, futile struggles and the blood dripping slowly from the cut his own teeth makes on his lip.

Yuuri’s eyes are half-lidded and the curve of his mouth pleased when he fucks Viktor’s mouth with rough, brutal thrusts that scrape his throat raw and flood his mouth with the bitter brine taste of him. He feels sick, body shuddering and burning under his uniform, and he feels like he’s drowning, deeper and deeper with sticky water clogging his lungs.

He tries to close his eyes and pretend this isn’t happening, but that only makes him feel all the more acutely the shape and girth of the cock prying him open, so he stops, opens his eyes, and promises this man a slow death with his eyes.

Whatever he sees on Viktor’s face only makes Yuuri thrust harder, faster, once, twice, and then spill on his tongue in a flood of heat.

Viktor chokes, swallowing instinctively as come fills his mouth, the taste making him recoil violently. Some of it drips down his mouth, making disgusting trails down his throat and wetting the collar of his shirt. Yuuri, silent in his perverted pleasure, pulls out once he has nothing more to give, and it’s with outrage that Viktor meets his eyes.

“That’s a good look on you,” Yuuri murmurs, patting Viktor on the head like he’s a puppy that just did some fancy trick. “You look less like a fuckable doll and more like a breathing human.”

“I’ll kill you for this.”

“You will try,” Yuuri corrects. “And you won’t be the first or the last. Now, shall we see to you? I think you’re growing impatient down there.”

“What are you–”

He looks down, following Yuuri’s gaze, and his mind stalls at the very visible bulge in his pants. His heartbeat thunders in his eyes, an uneven roar that threatens to unravel him down to his core. He doesn’t know how he missed it, the familiar heat in his veins and the pulsing between his legs, and then he wishes he never noticed because not even the horror of Yuuri’s come still staining his mouth eclipses the dread born of his own unwanted reaction.

“Don’t look like that,” Yuuri tells him, and it’s definitely laughter curling around his words. “This is a good thing, your highness. I can return the favor.”

“No,” Viktor yells, trying and failing to writhe away from the man.

Yuuri just lifts an eyebrow and tucks himself back into his pants, lacing up the front with a small, satisfied sigh before he returns his attention to Viktor. That’s terrifying enough except then, Yuuri draws his sword.

The last Viktor saw it was when it was lying on the deck of _Stammi Vicino_ , discarded by its master the moment it fell from his grip. Then, it was stained with the blood of Viktor’s crew but now, it’s pristine and gleaming. Viktor watches, almost mesmerized as its wickedly sharp tip comes to rest on his throat, right below where his pulse hammers against his skin.

There’s a pinprick of pain, and a thin line of warm blood trickles down to his chest, disappearing into the unforgiving black of his uniform jacket.

Yuuri doesn’t cut his throat.

Instead, the cutlass slides down, the cold metal just barely not kissing Viktor’s skin as it cuts through his jacket and undershirt in a slow, deliberate show of seductive violence. It nicks his chest, right between his pectorals, and slices a shallow gash across his stomach when the blade snags on a button and slips to the side. Viktor bites his lips at each wound, tasting copper, and keeps himself frozen lest he be torn in two much like the clothes that, as foolish as it is, felt like a last line of protection.

Then the sword comes to Viktor’s belt, teasing the leather with a gentle poke before shifting to rest on his crotch, barely an inch above the bulge straining in his pants.

Pure terror courses through Viktor.

“No,” he chokes out, all decorum and dignity abandoned in a flash of primal fear. “Please, no, _stop_ , don’t, Yuuri, captain, _please_.”

Yuuri looks…pleasantly surprised and almost entertained, like Viktor did something unexpected and opportune.

“Beg like that,” he says, “and I’ll sail a thousand ships for you.”

“Please,” Viktor whispers brokenly, too terrified to even tremble. He’s acutely aware of where Yuuri’s sword is poised.

Yuuri laughs, high and clear and _cold_ , the sound like a hundred spikes of ice ramming into Viktor’s skin.

“So cute, sweet prince. You shouldn’t be so distrustful of my skills just because you disarmed me once. But since you beg so prettily, I’ll play nice.”

Viktor heaves a quiet sigh of relief when Viktor puts the cutlass away, closing his eyes as his whole being threatens to sag.

That’s a mistake.

The pressure on his crotch is blunt and soft and so sudden that Viktor straightens with a cry, almost toppling forward but stopped by Yuuri’s hands. Viktor looks down and stifles another cry when he sees Yuuri’s feet pressed flat to his clothed cock.

“I suppose it’s a good thing I’m not wearing boots,” Yuuri says softly, almost to himself. He doesn’t move his foot and Viktor doesn’t relax his rigid posture, not even when Yuuri starts to gently, patiently unbraid his hair.

Viktor keeps hoping his dick will clue in on the situation and go down, but it remains as persistent as the uncomfortable warmth of arousal threading through his body. It’s not long before Yuuri has his hair unbound, the loose strands framing Viktor’s face.

“Pretty,” Yuuri breathes, appreciative in a way that clings like slime to Viktor’s skin.

He’s not surprised when merciless fingers gather a fistful of it near his nape and makes him arch his neck almost painfully, but the sudden increase of pressure on his cock tears a shout from his lips. Yuuri doesn’t let up this time, keeping Viktor in place like a butterfly pinned by the wings.

His foot is a constant, persistent pressure, toes oddly nimble as they trail almost teasingly down the length of Viktor’s cock. He whines breathlessly, trying in vain to get away, and cries out, sharp and desperate, when he feels himself growing wet.

“Stop,” he pleads, voice hoarse from the rough treatment of his throat and the angle he’s forced into. “I don’t want this, I don’t want to come, please stop.”

“Why does what you want matter?” Yuuri asks calmly, effortlessly balanced on one foot while the other makes a wreck out of Viktor. “This is happening anyway. Wouldn’t you rather enjoy it?”

“No,” he says, and it comes out weak when Yuuri’s heel _grinds_ against his cock and sends pure sensation shooting through him.

Yuuri’s smile is knowing.

Viktor closes his eyes and resigns himself to this nightmare.

He doesn’t enjoy it. He _doesn’t_.

When he comes, it’s choking on a scream and spilling messily in his pants, feeling the filth creep into his skin in ways that can never be scrubbed out. He slumps, head hung low, the inside of it strangely silent.

He doesn’t see or hear Yuuri walk to his back until the ropes binding his arms are cut with a few quick slices that, for once, doesn’t leave bleeding gashes in their wake. His arms, aching and prickling, fall to his sides. He still doesn’t lift his head, not even when Yuuri’s feet reappear in his vision, followed by his thighs as he kneels before Viktor.

A hand grabs him by the hair, pulling his head back again, and Viktor follows the motion limply.

“Did you break already?” Yuuri asks, a little incredulous, a little amused.

Then he lowers his head and licks over the wound on Viktor’s chest.

The sudden pain makes him hiss, fingers twitching in an aborted movement to grab something, but Yuuri just closes his lips around the gash and sucks, the heat of his mouth a peculiar torment on the stinging cut. The gash on his stomach receives the same treatment, and Viktor numbly listens to the sound of someone whimpering for a few long seconds before he realizes it’s coming from him.

When Yuuri lifts his head, his mouth is painted red with Viktor’s blood.

The kiss is chaste and brief and leaves sticky warmth on Viktor’s lips.

“We’re going to have fun,” Yuuri tells him, his dead eyes gleaming. “Prince Viktor Nikiforov.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr: [orchard-of-bones](https://orchard-of-bones.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Asks, anon included, are enabled.
> 
> As always, read the tags. This is not a pretty story.

He wakes in bed, alone.

There are a few moments, blank and blissful, where the soft, rich mattress and the permeating scent of sea almost lulls him back to sleep, secure in the knowledge that he’s safe in his ship and Mila will get him if he’s needed. But it’s hard to find a comfortable position, and his arms ache no matter where he puts them, muscles sore and skin chaffed from being bound with tight, unforgiving ropes–

Viktor bolts upright and promptly tumbles off the bed.

He leaps to his feet, stubbornly gritting his teeth when his vision grays and he sways precariously in place. He ends up on the bed anyway, not sitting so much as falling, the impact sending a sharp jolt up his spine.

He’s naked.

Clean, though, none of the…activities he remembers leaving any dried evidence on his skin. It’s far from reassuring because there’s no doubt in Viktor’s mind that it happened. He can feel it still, the pungent taste of it on his tongue and coils of unwanted pleasure in his gut.

Viktor bows into himself, hands clutching his head, and tries to breathe through the nausea swirling his chest.

It’s worse that he doesn’t remember what happened afterward.

The pirate captain, _Yuuri_ , said things, but Viktor can only remember his words as distant echoes that slid off his ears. He’s not as lucky in regards to the taste of lips that were painted with his own blood.

He chokes down bile, and searches blindly about the room, stumbling gracelessly to the pitcher of water on the table. He swallows, sputters, and barely avoids a coughing fit that would inevitably see him vomiting all over the floor. His hands are trembling, but Viktor summons some pale remnant of years upon years of military training to force himself into a state of calm and down some more water.

He drinks until he can’t anymore, and then he puts down the pitcher and leans back on the desk because his knees seem reluctant to hold him.

When did he last eat?

There’s no way to tell time in here, and Viktor’s hopeless even as he goes over to try the door and finds it locked. The captain left Viktor alone in his cabin, but there’s nothing here that can be used as a weapon. Well, he could always use the metal pitcher as a bludgeon, but this was a fucking pirate ship, and he was angry and proud but not a fool. In any case, he’s sure that there are diligent watchers outside the door. It’s what Viktor would have done, and Captain Yuuri seems like a very sensible monster.

Viktor knew him for mere hours and loathes him more than he’s ever loathed anyone in all his life.

He can feel his hair at his back, soft and tangled, and the memory of that man’s fingers in his braid clings to the strands. Viktor shudders and wishes he could peel off his skin, tear out his hair, erase that last few days.

He still doesn’t remember what happened after that man – after he – and it scares him, the gap in his memory. He doesn’t remember sleeping nor stripping, but knows he would have done neither voluntarily, not if he was in his right mind.

Viktor returns to the bed before he collapses. He feels weak in ways that are physical and not.

He sees, this time, the clothes neatly folded at the foot of the mattress. They’re not his, and he has his reservations about this, but there’s no hesitance before he starts to dress. He doesn’t want to be naked when that man returns.

The shirt is tight across his chest and shoulders, the fabric digging into skin and make Viktor’s wounds sting. He ignores them because acknowledging the pain means remembering how he got them and – _no_.

The trousers are somewhat better; ill-fitting and a couple of inches too short, but not uncomfortable.

In the end, Viktor leaves the top few buttons of his shirt unbuttoned. There’s a morose thought, quickly killed, that it won’t show that man anything he hasn’t already seen, not by choice on Viktor’s part but by overwhelming force on that monster’s.

Was he the one to strip Viktor? Did he do…anything while Viktor slept?

The door opens before he can spiral further into that sickening darkness.

It’s Yuuri.

Viktor’s legs feel weak again, but he keeps standing. When he swallows, his mouth tastes of cock.

There’s the sound of the door locking, but from the outside. Yuuri doesn’t seem concerned, more focused on the tray of food he’s balancing on one hand. The smell of meat hits Viktor like a tsunami, mouth watering and stomach clenching painfully.

He’s _starving_ , and doesn’t hide it as well as he ought to because Yuuri chuckles. There’s humor in it, nothing overtly malicious, but that’s somehow worse that overt mockery would be. Then again, it’s not like he needs to try hard to make Viktor hate him.

“You slept through the night and half the day,” Yuuri informs him cheerfully. “I’m surprised you’re standing.”

He sets the food down beside the pitcher, then withdraws and looks over Viktor. He backs up a step, skin crawling from that narrow, assessing gaze.

“You look good,” Yuuri says, dangerously soft, “in my clothes.”

Viktor drops like a puppet with its string cuts.

The bed catches him, but his back doesn’t appreciate the jarring impact, and Yuuri is definitely laughing at him now. Viktor crosses his arms across his stomach, fingers catching on the sleeves. He’s not surprised, not exactly, because he knew it somewhere deep inside, but it’s unpleasant, _revolting_ , to be told that this man likes Viktor in his clothes.

“Go fuck yourself,” Viktor says, proud that his voice is hoarse and scratchy but steady.

“Why should I?” Yuuri asks mildly. “I have you here.”

Viktor flinches.

“Don’t,” he spits. “You can’t – _don’t_.”

Yuuri smiles and says nothing, but he brings the food to Viktor who eyes it with suspicion.

“I already ate,” Yuuri says, depositing the tray on Viktor’s lap. It’s hot. “I checked in on you for breakfast, but you were dead to the world. Eat before you faint again.”

Viktor doesn’t move, and Yuuri continues to loom over him.

“It’s not poisoned, your highness.”

 _Tongue, your highness. Have you sucked cock before, your highness_ –

Viktor shudders, the cutlery ratting in reaction. Yuuri doesn’t point it out, doesn’t say anything at all, just walks away instead. Viktor watcher him go over to the desk, realizing with a start that he’s unarmed. The cutlass at his waist is gone, and Viktor doesn’t remember seeing a knife or dagger at the front.

The question, more of a stunned observation in the end, is out of his mouth before he can stop it.

“Well, I don’t want to give you any ideas. You were sweet and docile last night, but that’s just because you were in shock and then asleep. Don’t worry, sweet prince. My hands are more than enough to take care of you if you get any ideas, and if by some miracle, you get past me, they won’t open the door except at my command.”

“The ship’s full of your people,” Viktor says numbly, hope not dying in his chest only because he never got the chance to entertain any.

“Yes,” Yuuri says, still turned away from Viktor and studying something he has spread out on the table. “Eat your food.”

Viktor’s stomach grumbles. He eats.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri leaves with the dishes without a backward glance at Viktor, but the door opens for him and doesn’t lock afterward. Instead, a woman enters, gorgeous with dark hair and sparkling purple eyes, deceptively harmless save for the weapons at her hips and the ragged scar bisecting her face. A man follows her, with lighter, shorter hair and unblemished skin, her twin from the color of his eyes to the slant of his mouth.

It’s the woman who speaks first, voice light and words blunt.

“You need to relieve yourself. The captain told us to escort you.”

Viktor has been vaguely conscious of the uncomfortable pressure of his bladder since he woke, and her offer is a welcome one, but he still flushes in angry embarrassment at being walked to the head like he’s some child.

But no, he’s a prisoner and that’s worse.

They don’t take him to the head. Instead, they walk the much shorter distance to the captain’s toilet, and the twins wait outside while Viktor takes care of himself. They don’t rush him, and the low murmur of voices from outside are nonchalantly conversational. Viktor tunes them out and tries to think of nothing.

He considers escape on the way back, knowing even as he does that it’s pointless. He’s trapped on a ship with pirates. Even if he evades them all, the best he can do is jump overboard and throw himself at the ocean’s dubious mercy.

Katsuki Yuuri might drive him to that one day, but Viktor’s not broken yet.

The door locking behind him sounds unsettlingly final.

It’s several minutes of solitude later that Viktor’s heart settles down into a normal pace. He wanders around the room, idly running his hands over smooth wood and ignoring how the welts on his wrists ache. His first, frenzied impression was right; this is a big room, nearly the proportions of his own back in _Stammi Vicino_ , but more plainly furnished. He’s heard of pirate captains decking himself in gold and jewels, garishly opulent, but somehow, he can’t quite picture Yuuri like that. He’s a different kind of monster – placid, practical, and all the more terrifying for it.

Viktor stumbles to the bed on shaky legs and collapses, averting his eyes from the spot on the floor where Yuuri stepped on his dick until Viktor lost the battle with himself.

He should never have pursued the _Agape_.

But now, he’s determined not to leave its deck before he slams Yuuri’s cutlass down his throat.

It’s a nice thought to doze to.

 

* * *

 

After dinner, it’s Yuuri that escorts him to the toilet, his unarmed presence somehow ten times more threatening than the twins’ silent company. Viktor is stiff and fighting down a shudder when the door locks behind them, an airy, familiar voice wishing them a good sleep through the door. Viktor never even noticed Yuuko standing outside, too caught up in trying not to flinch away from Yuuri while keeping a safe distance.

He knows, though, that no distance will be safe, not for him, not from this man.

Yuuri’s neck looks delicate. Viktor has a vivid fantasy of wrapping his hand tight around that pretty column, and Yuuri smirks at him like he knows what he’s thinking.

Yuuri strips out of his shirt, gives his back to Viktor, and climbs under the covers.

Viktor stands frozen until Yuuri settles in a way that implies he intends to sleep and then slowly, quietly backs away until his back’s against the door. Yuuri turns his head to look at him, his eyes black in the dim glow of the oil lamp.

“Blow out the light and come sleep,” Yuuri says, casual like Viktor’s his friend or his lover, and not someone he ravaged without mercy or care.

Viktor doesn’t move from where he is.

Yuuri sighs and closes his eyes.

A beat passes. Then another, and another, and another. Yuuri doesn’t stir. Viktor slides down until he’s sitting with his legs drawn up and arms around his knees, feeling lost and very small.

He slept most of the day and isn’t drowsy, but keeping his gaze trained on Yuuri’s still form makes his eyes ache. He looks soft and unguarded in his sleep, like he would die with a stuttered gasp if Viktor were to smother him with his hands. But sleeping lions are no less lethal, and the thought of stepping closer to this one sends fear coursing through Viktor.

It feels weak, this terror. Viktor hates it.

And when Yuuri makes a loud, irritated noise and throws off his covers, Viktor allows himself a moment of vindication amidst the fear. The latter takes over quickly enough when the man stalks towards him, his bare skin sun-browned and heavily scarred, reminding Viktor incongruously of the red-flushed silk of his cock and the heat of it down Viktor’s throat.

Bile churns in his gut when Yuuri grabs him by the arm and hoists him up, arm muscles bulging.

“This is ridiculous,” he says, dragging a fruitlessly protesting Viktor to the bed. “Yuuko said I should be gentle with you, but clearly not when you’re trying to sleep on the floor. There’s room here for two.”

Viktor’s thrown on the bed, and his attempt to scramble out of it is blocked by strong hands that haul him to its center and pin him down.

Yuuri looms over him, face close enough to kiss, and Viktor gags on the memory of blood-painted lips. His chanted denial is what reaches his own ears first.

“No, no, no, no, don’t, I don’t want to, no, no, no…”

Yuuri just looks terribly amused.

“This must be hard for you to grasp, your highness, being a prince and all, but what you want doesn’t matter here. And for now, what I want is sleep.” He lowers his head, ignoring Viktor’s flailing, and presses his lips to Viktor’s cheek. “But let’s say I wanted _more_. How would you stop me by trying to sleep on the floor?”

“I won’t let you,” Viktor gasps, helpless and desperate. “I _won’t_.”

Teeth scrape his cheekbones, cold and wet.

“You will,” Yuuri says, laughing. “You’re mine now. I could have you out on the deck, and you can scream yourself raw, but no one will care, no one will help. Isn’t it a terrible thing, being powerless?”

Viktor chokes down a sob, shutting his eyes like he can block out the terrible truth of those words.

No one will care. He’s not a prince here, just a prisoner. He’s nothing.

“I was powerless once,” Yuuri muses, breath falling warm on Viktor’s skin.

When he rolls off Viktor and the bed, it’s sudden and startling, and Viktor watches with wide eyes as he walks over to the desk and blows out the candle. The sudden darkness blinds him, and for all that he listens, he can’t hear Yuuri’s footsteps.

The bed dips with his weight.

Viktor makes a noise, low and pitiful, and the silence from beside him somehow manages to be amused. He can feel the other man’s warmth and how it sticks unpleasantly to his skin, but there’s no body pinning his own, no wandering hands. Yuuri’s not still as he tries to sleep, and Viktor jolts at each moment, pressing himself flat to the wall.

He’s trapped, having no way to get out of the bed except past Yuuri. For all that he seems to have let his guard down, Yuuri’s body and skill speaks of a man who didn’t survive as long as he did by being weak and naïve. If Viktor tries to climb over him, he’ll know.

Even when the light snoring starts, Viktor doesn’t relax.

He keeps still, keeps his eyes open, and lies awake beside a monster for hours and hours and hours.

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, and when he wakes, he feels betrayed by himself, but he has bigger concerns – like the hardness pressing against his clothed ass.

There are arms around him, strong and restraining, and a face pressed to his hair. He can feel Yuuri’s chest move as he breathes, and the lazy roll of his hips as he grinds into Viktor.

“Good morning,” Yuuri murmurs, voice thick with sleep and an unidentifiable accent. His hand wanders over Viktor’s chest, a finger trailing up the bared skin to rest at the point where his pulse screams against his skin.

He takes another perverse whiff of Viktor’s hair before burying his face at the side of his neck.

Viktor jerks to life with a scream that sputters into a ragged gasp.

“What are you–”

Yuuri moves, his hips shifting away from Viktor, the respite short-lived because then his hand is at Viktor’s waist, fumbling with his borrowed belt and pants. Viktor moves through his horror, arm snapping down to block Yuuri.

There’s a sigh pressed to the skin of his neck, and Yuuri’s hand around his wrist, fingers digging into the rope burn there as Viktor’s arm is wrenched back and trapped between their bodies. He writhes in the scant space between Yuuri and the wall, but the body behind him doesn’t budge and his arm is yanked higher until his shoulder starts to throb in warning.

“Behave,” Yuuri growls. “I’m not patient in the morning.”

“Why are you doing this?” Viktor bites out, tears burning in his eyes and showing in his voice, stubbornly kept from spilling down his cheeks or out of his mouth as a scream.

The question seems to give Yuuri pause.

“Ah, do I need a reason? I want you. That’s all.”

Viktor’s free hand scrabbles at the wall when Yuuri’s hand returns to his waist. The belt is loosened and the pants shoved down with quiet efficiency, and Viktor shivers when his ass is exposed. There’s more fumbling, Yuuri’s breath warm on his neck, and then there’s something hot and hard sliding against his ass, rubbing filthily against them for a few, rough thrusts before Yuuri grumbles and shifts and his cock slides between Viktor’s thighs.

The new position frees Viktor’s arm, but he doesn’t know what to do with it except it curl it against his chest, aching and helpless.

Yuuri’s silent as he fucks Viktor’s thighs, and the hand not digging bruises into Viktor’s hips move to grip a fistful of his hair. Viktor yells when his head is yanked back and teeth press against his skin, Yuuri’s tongue as hot as the cock nestled between Viktor’s thighs.

Yuuri bites the soft underside of Viktor’s jaw when he comes, leaving his mess splattered on Viktor’s legs and half-hard cock.

And that’s as horrifying as the first time, the fact that this violation sends arousal simmering through his veins.

Unlike last time, Yuuri doesn’t stay to lavish his unwanted attention on Viktor. He sighs into his throat and rolls off the bed, leaving Viktor cold and trembling and sticky.

 

* * *

 

It keeps happening like that.

Viktor wakes after a bout of fitful sleep during the day with a moan pouring from his lips and a hand on his cock, Yuuri’s brown eyes peering down at him with a strange sort of interest, like he’s studying Viktor and the shameful sounds that fall from his throat as Yuuri’s rough hand and clever fingers pull an orgasm out of him. He leaves unceremoniously, wiping his hand idly on the sheets and flashing Viktor a knife-sharp smile, uncaring of the way he’s trying to make sense of this mad reality.

There’s no sense, no reason, and no one to help.

His eyes linger on possible escape routes when the twins take him out to wash and clean up, but their gazes are sharp and flinty, their hands always at their blade hilts, and Viktor’s once again left to contemplate the choice between death and being Yuuri’s plaything.

The second time he finds himself on his knees for Yuuri, he almost decides in favor of the former.

Yuuri’s gentler this time, unhurried, his tongue not lashing out in demands and criticism as Viktor tries to fit what he can in his mouth and fondle the rest with his hands. Yuuri, seated on the bed with trousers unlaced, looks down on him with amused condescension, one hand buried in Viktor’s hair. It doesn’t direct him like before, just grips firmly, fingers occasionally playing with the strands like Yuuri’s just enjoying the texture.

Sometimes, his thumb wipes away the wetness on Viktor’s cheeks.

He hates this, the taste and the smell and the smile, but the worst thing is the little pool of heat in his own crotch, building in tandem with the salty fluid Yuuri drips on his tongue.

Before he comes, Yuuri pulls out and draws Viktor back by the hair and jerks himself until his seed is splattered all over Viktor’s face, hot and thick as it trickles down his chin.

Viktor bites back a scream, but not the pained moan that follows Yuuri’s foot pressing along his cock.

 

* * *

 

He goes on, in the end, cracks running down to his soul as he spends day after day trapped in that same room with its bed and desk with nothing to do but sleep and wait for Yuuri’s dead eyes and terrifying smile and damned hands.

He scrubs at his skin with briny water and let nails scratch over pale skin, but he never feels clean.

He dreams of everything Yuuri’s done to him; sometimes he wakes up screaming, sometimes it’s with his cock hard between his legs, and sometimes it’s both.

“Can I leave?” he blurts one night, trapped in bed with Yuuri and pathetically grateful that Yuuri didn’t touch him tonight and leave him to sleep with his own mess cooling on his skin.

Beside him, Yuuri makes a confused noise.

“Not – not the ship, the room, can I just – the rest of the ship.”

Silence answers him, heavy and suffocating.

“I’m going crazy in here.”

Yuuri’s hand finds him in the dark, resting first on his hips and then stroking a slow trail up his side. Viktor’s shudder only elicits a quiet laugh from his captor.

“Why should I let you out?”

Viktor grits his teeth and clenches his hands against the urge to grab Yuuri by the throat and demand his freedom. He knows it’s futile though, and Yuuri’s palm now innocently cupping his neck can lose its deceptive harmlessness in an instant.

“What’s the harm?” Viktor asks instead. “Where could I possibly go?”

“Overboard,” Yuuri provides easily like he’s been reading Viktor’s mind. “But hm, no, you won’t do that. There’s no harm, really. My crew is well-behaved and won’t gut you for the hell of it. That’s not really my question though.”

Viktor waits, doubt and hope warring in his breast because this is more than the utter denial he expected but all the more dangerous for it.

“I’m asking,” Yuuri says after a few moments, sounding closer than before, “what you will give me, sweet prince, in return for letting you roam my ship?”

“What?” Viktor forces past cold lips. “I don’t – I have nothing to give. The ransom is already on its way, what more can I…”

His confusion isn’t feigned. There is nothing he can give Yuuri, not when his only possession is himself, and Yuuri has proved time and time again that he will take that without consent or care.

“Bold of you to assume that the ransom is on its way.”

“My mothers won’t let me rot with the likes of you,” Viktor spits, unable and unwilling to mask the contempt in his voice.

“Yes, we assumed as much. You are an only child, your highness.” There are times when Viktor wishes Yuuri would call him by his name rather than that mocking title or condescending petname, but he fears too, that his name on this tongue will taint it beyond measure. “But we’re not foolish enough to demand ransom and risk the wrath of Rzanya’s entire navy. The message we sent was coded. Sara loves those things, is a master at them. By the time they decipher our location and set forth to retrieve you, we’ll be leagues away and well-prepared. It’s several weeks of sailing, for us and them both. You’re mine for a while yet, your highness.”

Something inside Viktor shrivels.

“And we’re back to the original concern. What will you give me in return for a measure of freedom?”

When Yuuri pulls him closer on the bed, Viktor is too tired to resist. He ends up with his head tucked under Yuuri’s chin, face pressed to his neck, the position one of comfort except in this situation, with this person, it’s anything but.

A hand cups his ass, squeezing none too gently.

“Well?” Yuuri asks.

“No,” Viktor whispers. “You’re taking everything you want already, and I can’t stop you, but you won’t get anything from me.”

“Pity. But I’m willing to wait, Viktor. A week or two in here, and you might change your mind. I can be patient.”

Viktor tries not to shiver as those words send an ominous thrill through his body.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri gives him books.

They’re an odd bunch, ranging from world history to gory fairytales, and even by appearance, it’s obvious that they belong to different people. Some are pristine, no dog-eared pages or mysterious stains. Other seem barely held together, the pages crumbled and spine bent. The rest occupy the middle position, reasonably cared for but with water stains and worse. Most have names, or what Viktor assumes are names, written on the front pages in characters he can’t read.

He devours the first few, then paces himself, because they’re on a ship and unless one of the crew is a bibliophile the likes of Mila and Viktor himself, the supply of books will be very limited. And for all that Yuuri silently takes each finished book and returns with a new one, Viktor is wary each time, discomfort making a tangled nest in his chest.

He would wonder why the man is being so accommodating when his self-professed goal is to make Viktor surrender to him. Viktor dismisses is at the beginning at the incomprehensible whims of a madman, but within a week, he understands.

The books are a welcome respite, and Viktor has always been an avid reader, but at his core, he’s a warrior and a sailor. He’s used to roaming large castles and vast seas, the world open and free before him.

No amount of books will change the fact that this cozy little cabin is the kind of prison that will tear incessantly at his sanity.

Yuuri makes it worse.

He gives Viktor books and feeds him good food and holds him at night like he’s something precious, but he’s the same man who wakes Viktor with teeth on his throat and grabs him by the hair to shove him down on a cock and acts like Viktor’s body is his plaything.

There are times when Viktor catches himself being _grateful_ to Yuuri – because he’s kind, sometimes, and nice when he has a mind to be, and there’s a strange sort of humor under those sharp smiles and cold eyes and it almost makes Viktor laugh – and Viktor fears the day he won’t remember that he should only ever hate that man because he’s a monster shaped like a man, nothing more.

You can smile and smile and be a villain, and Yuuri’s always smiling but never so bright as when Viktor is crying on his knees before him.

He tries to hold on to that early, flaring hatred when the stories of actual wars and faery princes run together in his head and the walls of the little cabin start closing in on him.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks in – Viktor thinks it’s two weeks, Yuuri said so when Viktor messed up counting mornings and dinners, and he doesn’t know why Yuuri would lie but why should Yuuri tell the truth, and to Viktor, it feels like two months, two years, a lifetime – and no end in sight, Viktor takes to curling in tight on himself and thinking of nothing.

He feels…faded, when he’s awake, the world dull and hopeless, and his mind a gray, gray place. There are flashes of anger, but they’re not as potent as they used to be, stripped of their ferocity by each moment he spends at the mercy of Katsuki Yuuri’s maddening whims.

He makes Viktor feel good, sometimes, and that’s the worst thing, the traitorous pleasure he can’t fight against.

So Viktor coils into a tight ball and makes the world fade away, thinking neither of Agape nor Rzanya, being neither Prince Viktor nor Yuuri’s “sweet prince.” It never lasts, but while it does, it’s calming.

That’s how Yuuri finds him, one night, and Viktor is ruthlessly wrenched into reality by the hand on his head.

He blinks up at Yuuri, slowly straightening on the bed. His muscles ache from holding the awkward position too long, but Viktor barely registers it. After all, he’s always hurting somewhere these days.

“What do you want?” he asks blankly, pulling himself with effort into a sitting position.

Yuuri keeps his hand on Viktor’s hair and hums in consideration.

“Your hair’s a mess,” he says after a while, and Viktor startles a little. He doesn’t lift a hand to examine it himself. He knows the state it is in, was more or less aware of how the long, luxurious locks morphed into a tangled, matted mess. The treatments he used to indulge in, herbal oils and scalp massages, are not even an option here, but he did try in the beginning to wash it well and keep it in a neat braid.

He doesn’t remember when he stopped caring.

“Oh,” he says. “Okay.”

Yuuri smiles in that curious way of his, a tiny tilt of his mouth with no feeling behind it. Viktor wonders why he bothers. He was no stranger to giving fake smiles, but he made them bright and charming. Yuuri’s look like bared knives, sharp and threatening, and they make his face no less handsome but a whole lot more unsettling.

But then, Viktor imagines that’s the point. He’ll never understand Yuuri, and he considers that a blessing.

“Will you let me brush it?”

Viktor stares at Yuuri and waits for his mind to make sense of those words.

“What.”

Yuuri repeats himself calmly, eyes on the strand of silver hair he’s pinching between his fingers.

Viktor gapes for another moment, but he knows he heard right, and Yuuri looks so serious, and his response is a faint, resigned thing, too tired to even be properly confused.

“When have you ever needed my permission?”

Yuuri laughs. It’s short and startled, and his eyes are alight with something like actual humor when they meet Viktor’s. He lets go of his hair with a last, short tug.

“True. Stay here.”

Viktor doesn’t bother asking where he can possibly go.

Yuuri returns with an elegantly carved wooden comb and places it atop a pillow before he starts arranging Viktor to his liking. He goes along with it quietly, too used to Yuuri’s proprietary touches to startle or flinch away from his hands. He ends up sitting cross-legged near the edge of the bed, Yuuri on his knees behind him.

Yuuri doesn’t bother with the comb at first. The way Viktor’s hair is, that would only make it worse. Viktor still prepares for pain, for fingers to yank apart the knots the way Mama, with little patience and less delicacy, used to do when he was a child.

But Yuuri’s more like Mamochka, gentle and soothing, working slow and steady at the mess, careful enough that Viktor doesn’t even feel it save for a few light tugs and nails scraping his scalp pleasurably. Viktor freezes, or tries, but it’s hard not to relax into the hands working so patiently on his hair.

He can’t remember the last time someone did this for him. He was always a child that wanted to grow up too fast.

Maybe, if he closes his eyes and tries really hard, he can pretend he’s back in the palace with his mother at his back.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until the first tears drip down his chin. If Yuuri notices, he doesn’t let it show, just keeps untangling and unknotting Viktor’s hair with soft, patient fingers.

By the time the comb touches his scalp, Viktor’s biting back sobs and trembling.

Yuuri says nothing as he runs the comb through his hair, working out the last of the knots, and starts to braid. His fingers stroke the side of Viktor’s neck, too slow to be anything but deliberate, and he buries his face in his hand, nails digging into his forehead.

Yuuri continues to braid.

Once he’s done, he arranges it over Viktor’s shoulder. He blinks away tears and peers at it, only slightly surprised to find it neat and almost pretty, save for the lifeless quality of Viktor’s once lustrous hair.

Yuuri’s hands grip his shoulders, tight and solid, before snaking over his chest in an embrace. His front presses to Viktor’s back and when he finally speaks, his lips brush Viktor’s ear.

“The world is cruel, you know. It doesn’t care about you or anyone. And the people in it are soft sometimes, a little too gentle, a little too malleable. They get torn apart in the end, whatever convictions that have not enough to keep them together. Others try to bed hard but end up brittle, with paper-thin armors that weather a few storms and then fall apart. They break too, inevitably. Do you know what you are, Viktor?”

Viktor doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t miss that Yuuri called him by name, perhaps for the first time.

“Both,” Yuuri says once he realizes no answer is forthcoming. “You’re soft and brittle in parts, and in all the wrong ways. A man like me could ruin you forever, sweet prince.”

Yuuri’s hand slide up his chest, cup his chin, and turns Viktor into a kiss he numbly allows, even when they both topple to the side in a tangle of limbs. He ends up pinned under Yuuri, newly braided hair bunching uncomfortably under his head as Yuuri’s tongue maps out his mouth with hot, lazy swipes. Viktor doesn’t kiss back, but he doesn’t fight Yuuri off either, just clutches at his arms and lets himself to pried open, and he’s not really sure if that’s any better.

Soon enough, Yuuri tires of the kissing and rises, kneeling on the bed beside Viktor and stripping him with rough efficiency. The shirt, another of Yuuri’s, is left open around his torso, but his pants are worked off with unhidden haste. It’s painfully banal to be naked before Yuuri now, the shame of violation and the terrible sense of vulnerability from before both stripped off. It’s still a violation, and he’s still vulnerable, and Yuuri’s still the worst thing that has ever happened to him, but all of it’s a distant hum in the back of his mind. All he feels when he looks up at Yuuri is quiet resignation.

Yuuri settles between Viktor’s legs, and his eyes run slow and hot up his body to meet his gaze.

“Have you ever had your cock sucked, your highness?” he asks, a corner of his mouth curling, and Viktor turns away, making a vague noise that doesn’t quite pass as affirmation.

He has, actually, but Viktor sees no point in saying it aloud. And unlike the last time Yuuri asked a similar question, he doesn’t try to force out an answer.

Instead, his mouth envelops Viktor’s cock in its scorching heat, and Viktor arches off the bed with a yelp. Yuuri chokes a little, swallowing around Viktor’s hardening dick, and his hands clamp down on Viktor’s hips, pushing them down and keeping them there. He pulls off, licking his lips wetly and gives Viktor an admonishing glare.

“Patience.”

Viktor shakes his head. Yuuri smirks and lowers his head.

Viktor’s more prepared this time for the heat of his mouth, but the silky feel of it and maddening suction makes him squirm, head twisted in a futile attempt to hide and hands clenched in the sheets for fear that they’ll fly to Yuuri’s head and press him further _down_. He hates that he’s reacting to this, but that’s a familiar feeling, and the arousal that flood his veins is accompanied by quiet loathing.

“Stop, I–”

It’s a token protest, and they both know it, because Yuuri never stops. He sucks harder, taking Viktor so deep that he can feel Yuuri’s throat constricting around him, then pulls back until the head is barely resting on Yuuri’s tongue. He looks at Viktor then, dark eyes half-lidded and languid, and Viktor feels trapped in that gaze, stripped bare to the soul and everything in there devoured.

Then Yuuri’s eyes flutter closed, and he swallows Viktor again, tongue swirling teasingly along the underside before it’s replaced by a light, deceptively gentle graze of teeth.

Viktor slaps a hand over his mouth before his scream can escape.

Yuuri hums, the sound quivering over Viktor’s dick and making him tremble in turn, and does it again, harder this time, on just the edge of painful.

“Don’t,” Viktor bites out. “Please.”

Yuuri blinks at him, then rises again, licking lewdly at the head before straightening.

“You enjoyed it,” he says simply.

Viktor shakes his head in denial that convinces neither of them.

Yuuri doesn’t return to his cock, and Viktor doesn’t have the time to feel conflicted disappointment because he’s suddenly being seized and folded in half, knees settling on either side of his head and leaving his ass exposed to Yuuri’s keen eyes.

“You said,” Viktor blurts before he can stop himself, “you said you wouldn’t, not until I, you _said_ –”

“It’s cute that you trust my word,” Yuuri tells him, more than a little amused, but he doesn’t look away from where his thumbs are spreading Viktor’s hole. “You’re pretty down here too, all tiny and pink. Has anyone eaten you out, your highness?”

Viktor swallows another scream but has no words to give Yuuri.

“I don’t…what?”

Yuuri’s eyes widen, an expression of delight brightening his face.

“Oh,” he breathes. “This will be lovely.”

And then he buries his face in Viktor’s ass.

There’s one long moment of stunned incredulity, but the first flick of tongue on his hole jolts him out of it, only for a quivering, helpless moan to spill from his lips.

He’s never – no one has – he didn’t even _know_ –

Yuuri laps at him again, and Viktor’s thoughts shatter, mind caving under the sudden assault of strange, overwhelming sensation. Yuuri’s not shy about it, doesn’t even seem to care where his mouth is as his licks get bolder and wetter, spit soaking Viktor’s twitching rim as Yuuri’s tongue circles it teasingly.

It feels good, so good, better than anything he’s felt, and this time, even slapping a hand over his mouth doesn’t stop the high-pitched, desperate noises that leave him, and Viktor writhes like he’s trying to escape, but only ends up rolling his hips into Yuuri’s face, chasing the wet twist of his tongue.

Yuuri says something, or maybe laughs; Viktor doesn’t hear it, just feels his mouth move and air brush his hole, right before the tip of Yuuri’s tongue slides inside.

Viktor throws his head back and _howls_.

Yuuri digs nails into his ass and pushes his tongue in deeper, the slick muscle pressing in another inch before pulling out, just for Yuuri to lap at his hole and trace his rim, all as if to coax it open and try again, sliding a little deeper, prying Viktor a little wider. There’s no sting or burn like those times he used his own fingers, only searing heat and mind-numbing pleasure that tear through Viktor until he forgets his name, forgets why he’s supposed to be silent, and lets half-voiced pleas fall from his lips.

Yuuri only grows more enthusiastic, mouth and tongue working Viktor all wet and filthy, and there’s teeth too, scraping none too gentle along his rim. But the flash of pain only makes Viktor’s cock jump, smearing wetness on his belly.

He blindly resists for another second, but Yuuri’s tongue curves inside him like it’s reaching for something, and Viktor jerks on the bed, hand flying to his cock and stroking madly. It’s hard in his hand, the tip leaking profusely, and he spreads it along the length, strokes fast and slick and erratic in counterpoint to the lazy way Yuuri’s tongue fucks him down below.

His climax slams over him without warning, fire and lighting soaring through his veins, making him twitch and shudder as Yuuri’s mouth and his own hand wrings wave after wave of pleasure from deep inside him. Even as his cock grows soft in his hand, Yuuri doesn’t stop, keeps licking and nipping at Viktor’s hole until the pleasure becomes something sharp and unsettling.

“Wait, stop, I can’t, Yuuri…”

Viktor trails off at the name, remembering with abrupt clarity why he should never have given into the pleasure.

Yuuri stops.

Viktor can’t help the whimper that escapes him when Yuuri finally pulls away, and it takes each ounce of his tattered self-control to stop it from turning into a needy whine when he sees Yuuri with his mouth red and cheeks flushed and eyes heavy with want, all from eating Viktor out.

He’s still bent over himself, and Yuuri puts one hand on his thigh, making him keep that position, while the other fumbles with his own pants, unlacing the front and pulling out his cock.

Viktor yells a wordless denial when Yuuri’s cock slides between his ass, but he doesn’t try to push inside, instead sliding the silken length of it along Viktor’s hole. The head nudges his balls, precum dripping, and Viktor only watches with a blend of horror and arousal as Yuuri ruts against him with fast, frantic thrusts. He finishes quickly, heat striping Viktor’s ass and balls and cock, mingling with his own seed. It seems to seep into Viktor’s skin, brand him from the inside.

In the aftermath, Viktor’s frozen and Yuuri’s panting.

“I got too worked up,” Yuuri says, pulling back and letting Viktor’s legs fall back down. He collapses beside Viktor, uncaring as always of the mess on them both, and pulls Viktor to him in an embrace that’s more of a prison.

Viktor used to fight in the beginning.

Now, he shamefully curls a little into Yuuri’s warmth.

“I always knew we could have fun together,” Yuuri tells him, idly fingering Viktor’s braid.

Viktor closes his burning eyes and breathes in the scent of sex.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot how much I loved writing this fic. Ah well.

“What are you?” Viktor asks one night as Yuuri strips himself for bed.

The routine hasn’t changed much. Viktor spends most of the day locked in the room, with only books and the twins’ occasional presence for company. They don’t talk much, and though the woman acts kinder, her scars and the strange intensity of her eyes give away what lies underneath her soft smiles and teasing winks. The man is always scowling, but he’s slower to reach for his blade whenever Viktor so much as twitches. It’s telling.

Yuuri himself only returns at night, always cheerful in that skin-deep way he has. He’s no longer unarmed, though the guards still lock the room from the outside. Yuuri’s cutlass and dagger tempt Viktor, but for reasons both rational and not, he can’t make himself reach for them.

Sometimes, he touches Viktor, but usually, that happens in the mornings.

It’s been days since that night he brushed Viktor’s hair and took him to pieces with his clever, filthy mouth. Nothing of the sort has happened again, and Yuuri never mentioned it, not even the following morning, but the memory of those hours clings to Viktor.

Inevitable, really, that it will burst forth.

Yuuri cocks his head at the question, a thin dark brow rising in question. He doesn’t stop taking off his clothes, and soon, only the thin barrier of his underpants saves him from full nudity. Viktor absently runs his eyes over the assortment of scars, thin and deep and neat and ragged, that has become familiar over time. Yuuri’s skin tells a vicious, merciless story that’s echoed only a little more gently in the man’s eyes.

“Soft men and brittle men,” Viktor says quietly, gaze fixed on a vaguely round pink mark on Yuuri’s bicep. A burn scar, marked amidst the smooth tan of Yuuri’s arm.

Yuuri smiles knowingly but is silent as he sits on the bed. Viktor knows what he’s waiting for, and he doesn’t like that he’s come to learn this man well enough to read him moderately well. It doesn’t help that a part of him feels like Yuuri is letting him do it.

He still asks.

“Which one are you?”

Yuuri hums. Viktor’s starting to hate that sound. Yuuri touches him too, his palm stroking up Viktor’s arm before it snakes around his clothed waist, but that no longer makes Viktor start or flinch away.

Where can he run?

And with the twins’ silent company being his only other human contact, Yuuri’s easy touches, even when they turn heated and invasive, are all that makes Viktor feel like a person these days.

He hates himself sometimes.

“What do you think?” Yuuri asks.

“I think you classified men, and that you’re a monster,” Viktor answers easily because he has thought about this, has turned the question in his head over and over, trying to decide on his own before he turned it on Yuuri. They were entertaining hours, but more or less fruitless.

“You flatter me,” Yuuri says easily, teeth flashing in a wide, unsettling grin. “That’s too great a mantle, I’m afraid. I am but a man. Then again, is that not more impressive?”

“Certainly,” Viktor responds drily. “If cruelty is what you feel holds power.”

His tone makes it clear what he thinks of that. Yuuri, predictably, is unfazed. His answer is oddly serious.

“Not cruelty. That alone is little more than personal pleasure, if you’re so inclined. But I told you, I was powerless once. And what I am now, I _became_. I made myself, Viktor Nikiforov, forged this heart and body in fire and blood. What does a pretty prince in his golden palaces and fancy ships know of misery?”

“I am a soldier,” Viktor reminds him sharply, the only part of what Yuuri said that he knows how to respond to. “Do not presume to know me.”

Brown eyes peer dispassionately at him, unblinking for several moments. When they soften, it’s with a dark delight that does not set Viktor’s mind at ease.

“Fair enough,” Yuuri says, his tone a soft, gentle thing that sets Viktor’s hairs on end. “I suppose, in any case, that I gave you a halfway decent lesson on suffering.”

Viktor tries to squirms away, but Yuuri’s hand is like iron around his body, not pulling him closer, but not letting him get away either.

“You won’t break me,” Viktor promises him.

Yuuri’s eyes crinkle at the corner with a wide, genuine smile that makes ice spear through Viktor’s veins.

“Won’t you?” he says mildly. “In any case, to answer you – I was both. Soft and brittle, in turns. I survived both stages, if only barely. And now I _am_. But enough of me, your highness. Ask me what you really want to.”

Viktor stiffens, feeling Yuuri’s hand burn through a layer of fabric.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

There’s no response, and it takes Viktor several minutes to gather the nerve to look at Yuuri. He finds him leaning back on the arm not snaring Viktor, looking calm and relaxed. His eyes don’t waver from Viktor, quietly expectant.

At least they’re not mocking. Viktor doesn’t think he could have gone through with this if Yuuri laughed at him.

He still has his pride; worn and tattered but there. But he also has more sense than Yakov, his old mentor, ever gave him credit for, and after a month spent feeling insanity creep in on the edges of his mind and driven to seek comfort in the nighttime tactility of his captor and torturer, Viktor has lost most of his stubbornness.

There’s a lot he will do now for a breath of fresh air.

His next words taste like ash nonetheless.

“I want to go out.”

Yuuri barely even blinks.

“That’s nice. Now, what are you willing to give me for it?”

“You want my body,” Viktor spits through gritted teeth. “Take it.”

Yuuri moves so quickly that Viktor sees only a skin-colored blur before he’s pinned to the mattress, one of Yuuri’s hand on his shoulder and the other gripping his chin with bruising force.

“I have your body. You’re in my ship, in my chambers, mine to do with as I please. What I want, your highness, is your _consent_. Not true consent,” Yuuri corrects offhandedly. “I know the human mind. But I want you to say it, with these sweet lips of yours. I want you to look me in the eye and ask me to fuck you.”

Viktor shudders, violent and full-bodied, and jerks his head out of Yuuri’s grip with a gasp. His heart hammers in his chest, and nervous sweat has broken out all over him, his entire body a live, pulsing nerve that struggles not to tremble in fear.

Yuuri chuckles.

His mouth brushes Viktor’s cheek, almost tender as they trail over to his ear. Teeth sink into the lobe, sharp enough to burn but not to bleed.

“I could make it easier,” Yuuri offers, deceptively guileless. “I remember you were quite docile with my mouth on your cock and tongue in your ass. Shall I?”

“No,” Viktor yells, making a spirited attempt to escape from under Yuuri that’s easily thwarted.

“Easy, sweet prince,” Yuuri warns, voice light but laced with threat. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

“You’re happy doing that of your own accord,” Viktor shoots back, unable to help himself. Yuuri nips at his cheek, sharp and stinging, but makes no attempt to punish him.

“I’m waiting,” he says instead, breath falling hot on Viktor’s skin.

There was a certain security in Yuuri forcing him. Even when Viktor was betrayed by his own reactions, he was still a victim. He knew that, used it to escape the guilt.

This would take that away from him.

He thinks of spending more weeks like this, trapped in here, his body Yuuri’s plaything at night, spared only a certain violation and for only as long as Yuuri’s little whim – this halfhearted attempt to torment Viktor – lasts.

He turns his head, their lips almost brushing before Yuuri pulls back enough to look down at him.

Viktor meets those dead brown eyes and glares death as he speaks; consent, not freely given, but grudgingly voiced all the same.

“I will kill you for this one day. Fuck me.”

“You have a strange idea of bed-talk, but it appeals to me,” Yuuri tells him, laughter lightening his voice, and his lips descend on Viktor’s. It’s a kiss, not their first, and Viktor has, by now, mastered the art of keeping still while Yuuri takes his fill. It’s hard, sometimes, to not react when teeth tug at his lips just so or that tongue teases the inside of his mouth with lamentable skill. But he perseveres, mostly, reining in his sounds and reactions for when Yuuri inevitably shatters his control more thoroughly.

This time, Yuuri doesn’t go so easy on him.

He spends a few, charged moments tasting Viktor, slow and leisurely, but then he pulls back, not to turn his attention elsewhere but to turn a disappointed frown on Viktor.

“What?” Viktor snaps before he can help it, regretting it the next second because giving Yuuri an opening has never served him well.

“Just checking you’re alive,” comes the reply. “For a moment there, it felt like I was about to lie with a corpse.”

Viktor growls, face flaring with heat, and turns it into an angry snarl when a smug grin tilts Yuuri’s lips, right before they catch him again in a kiss so sudden and fierce that Viktor gasps into it, one hand flying to grasp Yuuri’s bicep. He stifles himself the next second, going still and silent, but from the look on Yuuri’s face when he pulls away, that momentary loss of composure was enough to sate his twisted pride.

“Strip,” he commands, climbing off Viktor, though not the bed.

Viktor sits up and doesn’t look at Yuuri as he yanks the shirt off his head. Something tears, but they both ignore it. He hesitates with his hands at his belt.

“Keep going,” Yuuri says, voice carefully bland and not fooling anyone. Viktor tries to glare at him but quickly averts his eyes at the intense heat with which Yuuri’s gaze is resting on him.

He throws his legs over the side of the bed just to have a chance to turn his back on Yuuri. It’s no more dangerous than showing any other part of Viktor to him, and for now, the need for even an illusion of privacy trumps everything else. He works off his pants more slowly than necessary, eventually throwing it over the crumpled shirt. His underpants remain, and he stands for it, pretending he doesn’t feel Yuuri’s stare like a physical presence.

All too soon, he’s naked and still turned away from Yuuri, feeling uncomfortably exposed and all too aware that he chose this.

He could take it back.

Cool fingertips land on the base of his spine, and Viktor shudders even as Yuuri softly trails them up his back.

“Come to bed,” Yuuri tells him, a demand disguised as a request. “Viktor.”

He doesn’t know how to feel about Yuuri’s newfound tendency to sprinkle his actual name into important conversations. It has happened maybe thrice so far, but each time makes Viktor startle and twist inside with conflicted emotions.

He turns and finds himself unceremoniously yanked into bed by Yuuri, down into a wet, open-mouthed kiss that catches him off guard and makes him moan, low and helpless. Yuuri’s lips curves into a smile against his. Viktor tears his mouth away, but the rest of his body is still in Yuuri’s grasp, arranged by hungry hands until he’s straddling Yuuri. Yuuri must have stripped off his pants while Viktor dawdled by the bed because sharp hipbones dig into his ass, along with something softer that Viktor doesn’t let himself think about.

Yuuri is…it’s unfair, how this man can look beautiful, even to Viktor who knows what ugliness lurks inside. No demon should look so like an angel, all dark, messy hair splayed like a halo and wet, reddened lips curved into a sweet smile. His body is lovely too, sleek muscle and sun-browned skin, and Viktor knows that if he had met Yuuri in a random harbor where their ships docked, all coincidence and nothing more, he would have tried his best to win a night with this man.

“Like what you see?” Yuuri asks, only a little mocking, and Viktor jerks out of his half-conscious contemplation of Yuuri’s chest.

“No,” he says weakly, not expecting to convince anyone of it.

Yuuri just laughs.

“It’s okay. We’re all animals inside, sweet prince. Reason doesn’t always have anything to do with lust.”

Viktor shakes his head, closing eyes as if to erase the image burned into his lids. He snaps out of it when Yuuri’s hand find his neck, squeezing none too gently before running his palm down his back, over the curve of his spine and the resting lightly at the small of his back before venturing further down – much further.

Despite expecting it, Viktor goes very, very when Yuuri’s hand slips between his cheeks. His reaction doesn’t escape Yuuri, not does it make him stop.

“Have you done this before?”

“Why ask? I doubt you care.”

Yuuri doesn’t answer, only waits patiently, and his dark, piercing stare tears the answer out of Viktor.

“Fingers. Just mine.”

Yuuri’s expression doesn’t change, and Viktor’s not sure how to feel about that.

“Fucked anyone then?”

Viktor purses his mouth and respond with a jerky shake of his head. This time, Yuuri’s eyes widen with unsettling delight.

“Oh,” he purrs, the sound making Viktor shiver. “That’s lovely. I haven’t broken anyone in for a long time, your highness. I don’t have the patience for it, you see.”

It’s meant to be a threat, and Viktor knows it, but it’s not like he was foolish enough to expect gentleness from Yuuri. He smirks, empty of humor but angry and challenging, because there aren’t many battles he can win here, but he’ll take what he can get.

Yuuri’s unimpressed.

He sits up suddenly, the hand not gripping Viktor’s ass grabbing his shoulder to steady him. The new position puts them close, torso to torso, faces close enough for Viktor to see the streaks of red and gold in Yuuri’s brown eyes.

Yuuri lets him go and retrieves something from behind him, and Viktor’s stomach drops a little when he sees that it’s a vial of oil.

“Scared?” Yuuri whispers, sounding almost gleeful.

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, certainly.”

Yuuri wastes little time, and the first touch of slick fingers on his hole almost makes Viktor leap out of his skin, but Yuuri’s dry hand holds tight onto him, curled delicately over the back of his neck with the threat of a less gentle hold eminent in how the nails scrape absently against skin.

“Relax,” Yuuri tells him gently. “Or don’t. You’re pretty when you’re hurting.”

“No, don’t–” is as far as Viktor gets before the first fingers slides into him, wet and hot and _not stopping_.

Viktor has done this to himself before, taking time and care and stopping halfway the first few times because the discomfort was too much, but retaining a measure of care even once he grew to enjoy the slight burn of working himself open and the breathtaking pleasure of what came after. He’s imagined too, someone else doing this to him, vague men with features borrowed from whatever attractive men Viktor remembered at that particular time.

Yuuri, though, it real and solid, and there’s nothing resembling gentleness in his finger as it sinks into Viktor and _crooks_ , tugging painfully at his rim.

Someone laughs into his ear, and Viktor raises his head, realizing all too late that he tried to seek solace by burying his face in Yuuri’s neck and wrapping his arms around his back. Teeth tug at his lobe, followed by a wet tongue, and another, husky chuckle.

“You’re tight.”

“Shut up.”

That earns him another finger, but not before Yuuri’s hand comes down on one ass in a stinging slap.

Viktor yelps, trying to squirm away from the hand, but there’s nowhere to go, and Yuuri easily slips between his cheeks and rubs at his hole with two wet fingers. There’s little teasing before they’re pushing inside, hard and merciless as they work into Viktor, and he doesn’t even have the breath to protest. He digs his fingers into Yuuri’s back, untrimmed nails scraping flesh, but he barely seems to notice, just keeps pushing until those two fingers are buried to the knuckle inside of Viktor.

“You’re sucking me in, you know.”

“ _Shut up_.”

The slap is harder this time, leaving Viktor’s ass throbbing, and he can’t help the throaty whimper that escapes him.

“What are you doing?” he gasps as the same hand that spanked him kneads the abused flesh. “Stop that, stop–”

“I don’t really care that you’re mouthy,” Yuuri tells him, chin hooked over Viktor’s shoulder, perhaps to better see his own ministrations. “But you have such a plump ass, I couldn’t help it.”

He pinches the skin, sending fresh pain lancing through Viktor’s ass.

“Stop.”

Yuuri doesn’t, just thrusts his fingers in and out of Viktor, quick and perfunctory, until they pull out entirely and return with a third.

Viktor, whole body slick with sweat and fear and creeping arousal, just pants into the side of Yuuri’s head and tries not to clench around the intruding fingers. He fails spectacularly when fingers brush that spot inside him that makes fireworks burst in his vision.

He has to bite his lips not to scream when Yuuri does it again and again, deliberate and cruel even though it sends pleasure sparking through Viktor’s veins and into his cock which fills up distressingly quickly.

Yuuri doesn’t miss it either and takes a moment to slide a hand between their bodies to take hold of it, Viktor’s stuttered protest falling, as always, on deaf ears. Yuuri doesn’t stroke him, just holds his cock a little too tightly, but it makes Viktor feel everything all too acutely, from the pressure in his gut to the maddening fullness in his ass.

The worst thing is that for all that he hates it, a part of him aches to thrust into Yuuri’s fist and back into the fingers buried in him.

“That’s enough,” Yuuri rasps, his mocking composure gone from his voice, replaced with the same need that darkens his eyes as they peer at Viktor. Lost in that look, the significance of his words doesn’t quite register until Yuuri’s fingers suddenly slide out of him, leaving him burning and empty. His hands don’t go far, clutching Viktor by the ass and lifting him, the motion making him lurch forward into Yuuri and cling to his shoulders. The momentary weakness flees all too soon, sheer alarm giving him the strength to scramble away from the first hint of a large, blunt pressure at his hole.

He doesn’t get far, Yuuri shifting and tightening his grip to keep Viktor where he wants him.

“Hey now,” Yuuri warns, the words casual but hiding bite. “Behave. You won’t like it if I have to make you.”

Viktor pushes at Yuuri’s shoulder, heart galloping in his chest from fear and something else, and Yuuri, with a faint sigh, allows him to pull back and glare at him.

“I changed my mind,” Viktor tells him, proud when his voice comes out steady, wavering from neither the terror making sweat bead on his brow or the need dripping from the tip of his erect cock. “I don’t want this.”

Yuuri blinks languidly at him, hands still on Viktor’s ass, tight enough to leave finger-shaped bruises.

It won’t be the first time Yuuri left marks on him.

“Alright,” Yuuri says after a beat, and Viktor is stunned by a confusing wave of relief and incredulity that he can’t react save for a breathless gasp when Yuuri lifts him up with effortless ease and brings him down on his cock.

Viktor shouts as he’s breached, high and wordless, nails ripping open red paths down Yuuri’s chest. Viktor barely hears himself, his voice a distant echo in his ears as his body is forced to make room for the hard cock pushing relentlessly inside.

It _hurts_ , Yuuri’s fingers not enough to loosen Viktor enough for the length and girth of his cock. Viktor’s had it in his mouth, his hands, between his thighs, and running filthily on his skin, but even that familiarity doesn’t prepare him for the way the whole searing length of it pries his ass open.

His vision whites out, and his breath freezes in his throat, and it’s Yuuri’s arm that suddenly wraps around him and stops him from pitching backwards. But then Yuuri is bucking his hips and taking Viktor without mercy, and he can’t help but wish that he passed out while he had the chance.

A mouth slots against his, hot and wet as it coerces his lips open and slides a tongue inside. Viktor bites down, aching and angry, but Yuuri’s hand is in his hair all of a sudden, twisting into the long strands and yanking.

Viktor yelps, tasting blood when Yuuri’s tongue slides out of his mouth. His head is jerked painfully back the next moment, and he has to strain his eyes to watch Yuuri’s face. He’s not sure of the throbbing of his scalp is better or worse that the uncomfortable fullness he feels and the pain radiating from where his walls are stretched to their limits.

Yuuri tightens his grip, and Viktor meets his eyes, trying to glare even as he feels a few of his hairs get ripped out by the root.

“I don’t care, you realize,” Yuuri tells him, not calm because he’s panting and there’s a twist to his lips that Viktor recognizes as smug, vicious pleasure, but the newfound roughness of his voice has edges sharp with delighted cruelty. He’s enjoying Viktor’s pain but what’s new?

“Pull out,” Viktor demands, trying to command but too breathless to be anything but desperate.

Yuuri smiles, all teeth, a few in the middle crimson with blood.

“I wanted you to ask for it. You did. That’s not something you can take back, sweet prince. Long after you’re gone from my grasp, you’ll lie awake at night, remembering how you asked a monster to fuck you.”

“I didn’t–”

“It won’t matter,” Yuuri cuts in, punctuating the words with a brutal thrust of his cock that wrings a pitiful keening noise from Viktor. “You can tell yourself you had no choice, that you made the best of a terrible situation, but _it won’t matter_ , Viktor, because you hate me, and it’s inevitable that you’ll hate yourself because you belonged to me.”

“Not yours,” Viktor bites out, scoring fresh scratches down Yuuri’s arms. “Never yours.”

Yuuri doesn’t reply, not with words, but the jerk of his hips and the invading heat of his cock are answer enough. Viktor tries to get up and away, but Yuuri pulls his head further back until breathing burns his throat and fucks into him with renewed vigor, forcing Viktor to feel every inch of the thick length keeping him so terribly open.

He can feel his hole twitch around the base, and he hates how it feels like it’s trying to pull Yuuri even deeper.

The hand around his own cock is a surprise, but he tries to pry it away. It’s humiliating enough that his cock’s hard even after all this, but if Yuuri makes him come, Viktor thinks he’ll lose his mind.

But Yuuri doesn’t let Viktor pull his hand away, only tightens his grip until it’s a painful vice around Viktor’s dick.

“Enough,” Yuuri admonishes, lightly as if scolding a misbehaving child. “Be good and take it, your highness. You’ve done it before.”

Viktor shakes his head and paws weakly at Yuuri’s wrist.

“Ah, yes, I forget. I’m your first.” The last part is said with a smile that sends a chill down Viktor’s spine. “It’s alright. You react so well to pain. I think you’ll enjoy it, once you let go of that pride that surfaces at the most inopportune times.”

Before he can even react, his world is flipped with startling violence. Viktor feels the burn of Yuuri’s cock pulling out of him and the hairs that are torn off when Yuuri’s fingers leave his tangled rocks, but it’s all a blur, followed by the soft thud of his back impacting the mattress. Yuuri has Viktor’s legs spread and knees braced on his shoulders before he can so much as gasp.

Yuuri’s cock slamming into him is no less of a shock than before, but there’s more than just pain this time around, there’s an odd sort of hot pressure that makes a gasp flutter around in Viktor’s throat, kept in place only by what remains of his will. Yuuri’s slower when he withdraws, his cock dragging along Viktor’s walls, the feel of it distressingly intimate. Soon, only the head is inside, keeping Viktor’s rim open obscenely wide.

Viktor’s pants echo loudly in the room.

“Stop it,” he tries again, half-hearted and trailing into a moan when Yuuri picks that movement to fuck back into Viktor, cock pressing impossibly deep and staying there for a breathtaking moment before pulling out, head popping free and leaving Viktor disconcertingly empty before he’s filled again, faster and rougher this time, tearing out the sounds he was trying to keep suppressed.

His cock bounces against his belly, flushed and dripping.

Yuuri’s in his own world, eyes closed and mouth slack as he uses Viktor’s body to his pleasure. His hands are tight on his thighs, nails digging into pallid skin. His thrusts grow harder, rocking Viktor violently on the bed, but it stops hurting.

Viktor absently wishes for the pain when each deep stroke makes his cock twitch and gut tighten, reacting helplessly to the maddening sensation inside of him.

Then Yuuri shifts his grip to take Viktor by the ass and lift, and the new angle rubs along that same place that made stars burst behind his lids except it’s worse this time, stronger and more intense, making Viktor arch and howl and tighten brutally around Yuuri’s cock.

It earns him a curse, his name following with equal vehemence, and if Viktor thought Yuuri was rough before, it’s nothing to the way he takes Viktor now, all gripping hands and barely constrained violence. It heats him down to his bones, makes him choke on a scream, and he thinks, despairing, that he will remember how this feels until the day he dies.

Yuuri’s _so much_ , and the space he’s carved for himself inside Viktor throbs when it’s empty.

Soon, Yuuri’s not thrusting, just rutting, making harsh little noises that Viktor echoes as he’s kept so impossibly full. His cock aches, but he twists his hands into the sheets to stop himself, but then Yuuri’s coming, exploding inside Viktor is a flood of wet, scorching heat, and his whole body goes taut in response, the pressure at his groin flaring.

But he doesn’t come, needing that one last push to shove him past the edge, though the last desperate thrusts Yuuri makes with his softening cock and the ragged sound he makes almost does the trick.

Yuuri, for a moment, looks like he’s about to slump over Viktor, but he pulls out instead, and the sting of him slipping past his rim and the gush of come that follows makes Viktor shudder violently.

It feels filthy, but it makes him squirm from more things than disgust.

He’s not surprised when Yuuri wraps a hand around his cock and starts stroking. It’s embarrassing how fast he comes, but Viktor bites his lip until it bleeds and looks away from Yuuri’s face as he comes all over himself.

Yuuri collapses beside him with a small, satisfied noise, and Viktor flinches away when he noses at his throat.

“Don’t be like that,” Yuuri chides gently. “We had fun, sweet prince.”

Viktor keeps his face turned away as Yuuri pulls him closer, ignoring the come cooling on his body and the tears trailing down his face.

Yuuri kisses his neck, humming under his breath.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated.


End file.
